


Imagine a Dress

by RainingPrince



Series: Imagine... [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Blow Jobs, Clothing Kink, Enthusiastic Consent, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Podfic Available, Semi-Public Sex, She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21744460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainingPrince/pseuds/RainingPrince
Summary: A tryst amid velvet.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Imagine... [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1633408
Comments: 14
Kudos: 131
Collections: Break in Case of Emergency: Fluff and Love, Hot Omens, Ixnael’s Recommendations, Just Enough Of A Bastard to be Worth Knowing Biblically, Our Own Side





	Imagine a Dress

**Author's Note:**

> She/Her pronouns for Crowley, she has a penis.  
> He/Him pronouns for Aziraphale, his genitals are irrelevant.
> 
> No one else is in the building, thanks to a little celestial suggestion, Az just wanted to try out the acoustics ;)
> 
> [podfic link in the end notes]

Imagine a theatre, built for thousands, gilt and gold on every surface. Imagine the room is huge, draped in banners, the smallest sound travels all the way to the back. The stage is raised, smooth black wood underfoot, several feet high and decorated with lions and filigree on the outside facing the audience. The curtains are massive, rich and worn with age yet still proud and strong as the day they were hung. They are not drawn, the stage open to the air though there is no one to see and no one to perform. Instead, tucked into the wings, in a dark little corner surrounded by velvet and just out of sight are the lovers.

Imagine a dress.

Imagine a demon wearing a dress.

A dress so dark, your first thought is black. But soon you aren’t entirely sure because just then she moves; the dress shifts just slightly, and suddenly the red shines through like sunlight off a blood red rose. The fabric is just as soft as the petals invoked, somehow a perfect balance between velvet and satin, and heavier than either. The neckline dips low, exposing sharp collarbones and a tease of black lace.

Imagine Aziraphale, trailing kisses along the demon’s throat down to her shoulder, tiny nips here and there, never enough to do more than tease. The long fingers of Crowley’s left hand tug gently at white-blond curls, begging for something even she isn’t sure how to name. Imagine that when he gets to the strap, he takes it between his teeth, reveling in the faint vibration as it scrapes against his canines, and pulls. It falls beautifully, exposing first her shoulder and then the strapless brasserie, delicate roses and thorns across smooth skin. The other strap remains in place as Crowley’s other hand grasps at the heavy velvet of the curtain above her, solid black cherry contrasted with the tiny tantalizing windows of skin amongst the thorns. She is breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling in excitement, anticipation. She bites back a moan when he flicks his tongue over a nipple barely visible through the lace.

“None of that,” Aziraphale whispers, sliding his hands from her hips down her legs. “I want to hear everything.”

“Angel, it echoes in here.”

“Precisely.” Said angel does not elaborate, simply licks again and this time Crowley does not hold back.

The heavy fabric of the dress bunches and slides deliciously as Aziraphale slips strong hands underneath. He is met with more lace, and though he cannot see it, he knows it matches the bra. “May I touch you?”

She gasps quietly, nodding her head emphatically. “Please,” she manages.

He leaves one hand on her hip to keep the fabric out of the way, but the other begins to dance along the edges of the lingerie, teasing as he travels those last few centimeters before taking her into his warm cupped hand. Through the underwear, he can feel her, hard and heavy as she rocks forward into his hand seeking pressure. She whimpers softly, and bites her lip as he palms her, and he smiles against her skin.

She is beautiful, half undone and watching him with eyes blown wide and yellow-gold. Asymmetrical and glorious.

He sinks to his knees, in supplication or just for the angle he cares not, placing many more kisses as he goes. Down her breasts, small and proud, down her stomach he brushes his lips, the dress a pleasant buzz against sensitive flesh. He pauses just above her mound and looks up, waiting for permission.

She nods again, swallows thickly, the bobbing of her throat sends a shiver down his spine.

He caresses her thigh as he pushes the rest of the fabric out of his way and leans in to inhale the heady musk of her. He licks slowly along her length through the lace and she cries out in pleasure, her voice ringing through the theater and echoing back through the empty seats. A silent audience.

She is intoxicating, warm and smelling of salt and spiced wine. He laves his tongue over her again, and again. The lace is smooth, tiny complicated patterns of knots delighting his tongue.

He continues to work her through the lingerie, her other hand disappears from his hair as her legs start to tremble and she has to hold onto the curtain with both hands. He takes a quick break, placing kisses to either side of her and teasing along the edges of the lace. She almost cries, but then he is pushing aside the lace and taking her into his mouth and she is sobbing out loud, shaking and moaning and his hands are on her ass squeezing tight and they hear the ripping of the velvet and cannot bring themselves to care.

She comes then, shouting her orgasm into the empty theater; and he swallows her down, gently encouraging with his tongue until she croaks out a soft “Fuck,” and weakly pushes his head away. She sinks to her knees in front of him, her breath strained and her face red. The strap falls off her shoulder again and she makes no move to correct it.

Aziraphale snaps his fingers, fixing the tear in the curtain, and Crowley flashes a wicked grin.

“Every time we come here for a show, you’ll remember that.”

“I’ll remember it fondly as I slide a hand between your legs during the first act.” The angel responds.

The flush on the demon’s face returns with a vengeance.

Imagine.

**Author's Note:**

> So my lovely friend Jace made a podfic version of this work and it’s delicious!! The link is down below :o

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Imagine A Dress (Podfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23958325) by [Jayce_Evernight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jayce_Evernight/pseuds/Jayce_Evernight)




End file.
